


The Great Wobbly-Headed Doll Caper

by igrockspock



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Backstory, Banter, F/M, First Meetings, Getting Together, Mission Fic, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27268720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: The first time Zorii meets Poe, she pulls a gun on him.  She does not appreciate being forced to go on a smuggling mission with him.
Relationships: Zorii Bliss/Poe Dameron
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11
Collections: Fic In A Box





	The Great Wobbly-Headed Doll Caper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frozensea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensea/gifts).



Zorri’s first mistake was letting Poe Dameron see her pinkie finger.

She should never have let things get that far; she hadn’t even wanted him on the crew to begin with, but Babu Frik was the boss, and she didn’t have the credits to start her own operation yet. That meant she couldn’t choose her own coworkers. 

“What do we want with some Navy reject?” she’d snapped at Babu.

“Hey! Standing right here!” Dameron had said, jerking an angry thumb toward his chest.

Zorri hacked the discharge file on her data pad with a couple flicks of her thumb. “Thrown out for _brawling_? We don’t need that poodoo. We can do better.”

Dameron stepped in front of her and drew himself up to his full height, which frankly wasn’t that impressive. “Yeah, I’m sure you have a lot of honorably discharged pilots just laying around.”

Babu said nothing. Zorii knew he was considering getting a bowl of popcorn.

Better to get this over with fast. She drew her blaster and pointed it at Dameron’s head. “You cause me a problem, I kill you. Got it?”

He tossed her a cocky, one-dimpled grin that she definitely did not find attractive. “You’d be welcome to try.”

That had been a week ago. Dameron, regrettably, had not caused her a problem, at least not the kind she could shoot him for. He _was_ annoying, but if she killed him for that, it would cost her money, because he was a damn good pilot, even if he talked too much and begged to see her face.

“No face, no wanted posters,” she said for what had to be the fifth time that day. Or was it the eleventh? She was losing count, and it was only day one of their first completely solo mission together.

Dameron huffed. “You think _I’m_ going to turn you in? We’re a crew!”

She stepped up to him like she was about to start a fight. “This is not the Navy, and we are not brothers in arms. The sooner you figure that out, the better.”

He hadn’t so much as blinked when she’d pointed the blaster at his head. Now he flinched and stepped back from her, swallowing hard. “Thanks for the reminder,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically hollow.

Zorii stepped around him, leaving him standing alone in the ship’s tiny galley. She wasn’t sorry. She was _not_.

And she didn’t need to be, because Dameron was his usual ebullient self when he met her in the cockpit a few hours later. He even handed her a cup of caf.

When she didn’t take it, he waggled the cup in his outstretched hand. “Doesn’t bite,” he said. “See?”

“It’s a trick.” Zorii sighed. “You’re trying to get me to take my helmet off.”

“Nope. Insulated mug. Take it wherever you go to eat and drink.” When she still didn’t take it, he leaned over her and popped it into the cupholder at her console. “Hope it’s not the fresher. That’s just gross.”

He smelled like sweat and engine grease, and Zorii wanted to wrinkle her nose -- even if he couldn’t see it -- but the one-sided grin was back, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling with him.

“Why are you doing this?” She tapped the mug with her finger.

Dameron slid into the pilot’s seat. “I get it. You’re not on my team, but I’m still on yours. That means I’m gonna be nice to you. Learn to live with it.”

Her glove was torn, and Zorii slipped her pinkie out. “ _This_ is how much of me you can see,” she said, extending the lone bare finger toward him. “Learn to live with it.”

She’d intended it as a rebuff, but he took her hand and traced the exposed flesh carefully with his thumb. “Hey,” he said, “you have a scar.”

He was rubbing the little ridge of skin just above her knuckle, and she jerked her hand back when she realized how hard she was breathing.

***

Dameron deposited another steaming mug of caf at her station the next morning. “I can’t believe you suit up like that to smuggle bobblehead Senator Organa dolls,” he said. He was smiling, as usual, because he was obnoxiously chipper first thing in the morning.

“I can’t believe Frik told you the cargo,” she shot back. 

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, weirdly, the boss briefed the pilot on the mission. I’m kind of key personnel, you know?” 

“Then you get that this is _important_ right?” Zorii said.

Dameron waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. This is the trial run, we check out the customs stations, the security personnel, make sure our contacts don’t wanna kill us… And next time, the Senator’s head is stuffed with spice.”

“Good job!” Zorii infused her voice with all the fake enthusiasm she could muster. 

“The Great Bobbleheaded Doll Caper of ABY15,” Dameron muttered, lounging back in his seat. “We’ll go down in history for sure.”

In spite of herself, Zorii snorted. Her payout for this run was going to be poodoo. One day, when she had her own crew, and she didn’t have to bother with jobs like this…

“You really gonna wear that thing to smuggle children’s toys?” Dameron pointed at her helmet. 

“Collector’s items,” Zorii muttered darkly. “For those who wish to commemorate the founding of the New Republic in a whimsical way.”

Dameron gave her one of his lopsided, one-dimpled grins, which wasn’t gratifying at all, because it was ridiculously easy to make him smile. 

“Okay, say we get caught smuggling these high-quality collector’s items. You really think they’re gonna splash your face all over the wanted holos for _that_?”

“Obviously not.” Zorii drew herself up quickly. She’d been slumping in her seat, mirroring Dameron’s posture, and somehow her feet had wound up entangled with his. “ _You’re_ the one I don’t trust.”

“You this hard on everyone? Or did I do something to offend you?” Dameron asked. That wounded look was back again. 

“You’re just not one of us. Don’t take it so personally.”

Dameron’s mouth opened and closed. His eyes were blazing when he finally spoke. “You don’t trust me, you don’t think I’m part of the team, and you don’t want me to care? I don’t work that way, and you shouldn’t either.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Our lives are going to depend on each other at some point. Maybe not during the Great Wobbly Headed Doll Caper, but sometime soon.”

Zorii sighed. “Dameron. I’ve seen the holos in your cabin. You have a family to go back to. You’ll slum it as a smuggler for awhile, and then you’ll go back to your dad.”

“And do what? Fly tourist shuttles around Yavin Base?” His lips twisted into an unfamiliar, bitter smirk. “You know, there’s not a whole lot of jobs just lying around for dishonorably discharged pilots. Search and rescue, Medevac, Civilian Air Defense...they all turned me down.” He shrugged, and the ugly smirk gave way to a rueful grin. “If smuggling whimsical collector’s items across the galaxy is the only way I get to fly, that’s what I’m gonna do. For the rest of my life.”

Zorii shook her head. “The ones who can leave always do,” she said. _She_ needed the reminder, even if he wouldn’t listen.

“You know, I’ll bet a lot of people have given you good reason to believe that, so wear the helmet as long as you need to.” He flashed her a dazzling grin. “I’ll win you over some day. I have it on good authority I’m irresistible.”

***

On the third morning of the mission, Poe -- whom she was starting to think of by his first name, in spite of her best intentions -- put the usual cup of caf in front of her station.

That was the day Zorii broke.

They’d hit their last customs checkpoint at 0300 hours. Nothing happened. Their dolls cleared without an extra scan, their contact didn’t try to kill them, and they got the forged tax certificates for the agreed-upon bribe. But she’d seen sunrise from the wrong end, and now she wanted a hot cup of caf.

Right here. Right now. Not back in her cabin, and not furtively sipping in the galley, looking over her shoulder in case it was a ploy for Dameron to catch her without her helmet.

She lifted the visor just enough for a sip.

“A mouth!” Poe crowed from the pilot’s seat, loudly enough to make her jump. “Dammit, Senator, you were right.”

Zorii swiveled her chair toward him. One of the Leia Organa bobbleheads sat on the control panel, its head swaying back and forth in the ship’s recycled air.

“See, I bet the Senator here that you had a proboscis, but clearly I was wrong. Better pay up.” He made a show of leaving a credit chit at the Senator’s feet. Then he narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to the doll’s head. “New bet. Double or nothing. If she has 3 or fewer eyes, I win. Four or more, I lose.” 

Zorii snapped down her visor to hide her smile. The worst thing about Poe Dameron was how much she _didn’t_ hate him.

***

“Why did you get kicked out of the Navy?” Zorii asked.

They were number seventy-four in the customs queue. Making friends with Poe wasn’t high on her list of life goals, but the latest installment of her favorite holo series wouldn’t download, and she needed to do _something_ for entertainment.

“Nope,” Poe said.

“That wasn’t a yes or no question, Dameron.” It was a shame he couldn’t see her glare through the helmet’s visor.

Poe stretched out his legs and slouched in his seat, like he was getting comfortable for a very long conversation. “I meant, no, I’m not telling you that. Not unless you’re prepared to trade for the information.”

It was also a shame that he couldn’t see her roll her eyes. “I’m not starting a negotiation with you.” 

“You want to know the turning point of my entire life? In exchange for nothing?” He leaned toward her. “Come on, you can start small. Tell me how you got the scar on your finger.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She really didn’t. “I probably cut it while I was repairing something, or running from someone. The police, maybe.”

Poe shifted in his chair, and his knees bumped against hers. “Honest. I like it.” At her snort, he shook his head. “You could’ve lied, made up something to get what you wanted.”

“Like what? Rescuing children from tentaculous eel worms?” she asked, taking a stab at the sort of thing a former Navy pilot would consider valorous.

“What are those? No, don’t tell me. Don’t think I want that image in my head.” When she laughed, Poe pressed on. “I’m very delicate, you know. I probably wouldn’t sleep for weeks.”

Zorii felt warm. It wasn’t the familiar electricity she felt before a hookup, where every inch of her flesh felt on fire with anticipation and heat pooled between her legs. This was just _warm_ , in a way that made her feel loose and open, so much so that she didn’t mind the way her knees bumped against Poe’s. Nobody had ever tried so hard to make her laugh.

Maybe that was why she said, “Alright, I’ll tell you a story.”

Poe leaned in closer. “I’m all ears.”

“My dad drank, and then he left.”

Poe regarded her steadily, and when the silence stretched out, he said, “Zorii, that’s awful, but it’s not a story.”

“Yes it is. It’s just a short one.”

“No, no, no. A story has a sequence of events, like a beginning, a middle, and an end.” Poe’s face grew more animated as he spoke. “There’s some feelings in it, and it paints pictures in your head.”

Zorii shrugged. “I don’t see the problem. I conveyed the essential facts. You and your apparently vivid imagination can fill in the middle.”

Poe rolled his eyes. “Alright. I accept that was a good faith effort. You’re just poodoo at telling stories. So I’m going to give you an example.”

“This is going to be a long story, isn’t it?”

“Oh absolutely.” He eyed the long line of ships stretching toward the customs checkpoint. “And the best part is, I’ve got a captive audience.”

Zorii sighed theatrically, although she didn’t really mind. “Well, then, get on with it.”

“Alright, at my last posting, we get this new recruit. Honestly, I got no idea how he made it through basic. He probably weighed all of about forty-five kilos soaking wet, but he was the grandson of this famous admiral from the war.” Poe paused and nudged her with his boot. “You see how this works? You got a picture in your head?”

She nodded. “Yes. This is a story about corruption and nepotism.”

“No. Well, a little. But mostly it’s about how I got kicked out of the Navy.”

“You crusaded against corruption and nepotism? And it ended badly?”  
“Impatient, much? Just listen.” Poe waited for Zorii’s obedient nod before he continued. “This kid’s got no business in the Navy. The worst thing is, he knows it too. But he’s trying to please the old man. You can tell he’s been trying to do that his whole life, and he never can. He’s just not a fighter. You know the type right?”

“They’re the ones who don’t last long on the streets in Kijimi.” Zorii had made a point of making sure she could never be mistaken for one of them, after her father had left.

“Right. So the thing is, the kid’s gonna wash out. No further action necessary, right? Just let him fail the flight training, and let him down easy. But the XO -- that’s the executive officer -- doesn’t see things that way. He’s determined to _break_ this kid.”

Poe paused, clearly awaiting input.

Zorii shrugged. The story didn’t sound remarkable so far. “The powerful crush the powerless. It’s how the galaxy works.”

“And the award for the cynic of the year goes to…”

Zorii would not lift her helmet just to roll her eyes at him. She would _not_. “Realist, Dameron. Which you would know if you weren’t some fancy flyboy with a warm home waiting for you.”

Poe shrugged off the jab. “So the XO’s trying to break this kid, but the kid won’t be broken. Push-ups in the rain for hours, he nails it. Can barely walk afterward, but whatever, he gets up to run with us the next day. And he’s still failing all his sims, but his score comes up every time. Maybe five points, maybe just one point, but that’s progress, you know?”

Zorii just huffed. At no point in her life had anyone ever rewarded her -- or anyone else she knows -- just for making progress.

“By the end of flight training, he’s just almost there. He just needs one more point. And I knew if I worked with him a little more, he could make it. It’s not a big deal to postpone a test just by a week or two. You can pull out a couple wires and say the testing craft is shot, or you can cough up some urgent mission for the whole squadron that takes precedence over testing one trainee. I’ve seen it happen all the time for guys who just weren’t ready.”

“So you asked, your XO said no, and then you hit him?” Zorii asked. She was thinking about taking off her gloves to file her fingernails.

“Not quite. I did ask, and he did say no. But the kid makes it anyway! Exactly the score he needs to pass. And we’re all out there on the landing pad, hoisting him up on our shoulders, everybody’s screaming. Except the XO. He looks up at the kid, realizes his flight suit isn’t quite cuffed right, and takes off a point. And it’s done. The kid flunks training, he’s washed out, and he just starts crying, right then and there, asking how he’s going to explain this to grandpa. That’s when I took a swing at the XO. More than one swing, actually. It was a lot of swings. And they all hit.”

And _that_ was when Zorii officially couldn’t stand it anymore. She popped off her helmet just so Poe Dameron could see her roll her eyes at his absolutely incredible stupidity. “You gave up your career for something that wouldn’t even make a difference? You couldn’t have possibly thought beating your commanding officer would change anything.”

She waited for Poe to crow about seeing her face, but his eyes were dark. “You think I don’t know I was an idiot? I’ll never fly a starfighter again. I’ll never be able to face my dad again. I lost it all, and I’m not getting it back.”

Zorii sat silently in the copilot’s seat, clenching her jaw and fighting down a host of ridiculous temptations. The story proved nothing about Poe Dameron, except that he was filled with foolish hopes and couldn’t plan for shit. In the highly unlikely event that Zorii ever desired a substandard member for her own crew, she would never behave so rashly. She would do what any rational person would do: gather her squadron to terrorize the commander through the night, until he was persuaded that changing the score was the only way to save his life. And afterward, she might arrange an accident, so there was no chance he would ever come after _her_ in the dark.

She opened her mouth to explain that to Poe, but he was staring out at the stars, looking like someone had just shot his puppy. She realized that he actually _believed_ that he would never go home, and that warm, smiling father would never take him back.

With a great sigh, she gave into one temptation: she snatched the credit chit at Senator Organa’s feet and pressed it into his hand. “You won your bet,” she said. “Two eyes. See?”

A ghost of a grin crept across Poe’s face. Their hands had brushed together when she gave him the credit chit. She realized now that he’d reached up and caught her fingers.

“Two _pretty_ eyes,” he said. 

There was no smirk, no leer, no suggestion that he expects anything more from her. It was a sincere compliment, but also a stupid one, because her eyes were an utterly unremarkable shade of brown. On a good day, in the right light, perhaps they were a bit green, but definitely not right then, when there was only hard starlight and the harsh artificial lights in the cockpit.

That was why she gave into the second temptation. She squeezed his hand, and said, “You didn’t lose everything. You can still have a crew.”

He looked so stupidly grateful, with his lips falling open and his eyes lighting up with hope, that she gave into the third -- and worst -- temptation of this wretched morning: she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.

She did not, however, tell him that she’d sneaked off at their last stop and bought all the spice she could afford, or that that spice was now stuffed into the head of one hundred fifty-four Senator Leia Organa bobblehead dolls. That wasn’t even a temptation. She was a businesswoman, not an idiot.

***

Since the last stop was the one that would finally land her the credits to start her own crew, it was the one that went wrong. Of course.

The morning started out in the ordinary way: Poe handed her a cup of caf and set about annoying her.

“You’re gonna be weird about the kiss, aren’t you?” he said, sliding into the pilot seat. He winked at the Senator Organa doll bobbing gently on the control panel. “Senator, I’ll give you ten to one odds she’s weird about the kiss.”

Zorii sipped her caf and frowned. He’d put something in, some kind of cream, and she usually took it black. “I’ll do no such thing,” she said. “I’m not some thirteen-year-old waif who swoons over one kiss.”

“Fair,” Poe said, nodding like the matter was settled. Which of course wasn’t, not in his mind. He opened his mouth again. “I amend my statement. You’re gonna get weird because you _like_ me. You really, really like me.”

She swiveled the copilot’s seat toward him. “I find you acceptable at best.”

He shrugged. “Acceptable at best? Is that why you said I could be on your crew?”

Zorii hadn’t said that. She’d said that Poe could have _a_ crew someday, not necessarily hers. But if things went right today, she’d have the credits to start up her own operation, and she’d be foolish to let her pride get in the way of hiring Poe. He was obviously a capable pilot.

“I’d like to amend my statement,” she shot back. “Your flight skills are above average, and your personality is acceptable.”

Poe winked. “You know, Senator, I think that’s high praise coming from her. I’m going to take it.”

And then, miracle of miracles, he went silent as he guided them toward Kafrene’s spinning docking ring, his whole laser focus on the navigation readout in front of him. 

Only the best pilots could make the landing. That was why the Empire had never managed to truly control it. A single smuggling station was hardly worth the effort, not when there were battles to fight against the Rebellion. Ironically, freedom had quashed the illegal activity on Kafrene almost overnight. The Republic Navy was away with excellent pilots, bored after the end of the Galactic Civil War and eager to crack down on smuggling rings. And that was what made it such a lucrative destination for Zorii. Distributors were practically begging for her contraband. Once she brought this in, she’d be guaranteed a steady stream of business for the foreseeable future.

All she had to do was make sure two hundred Leia Organa bobbleheads got through customs with no questions about what might be stuffed inside.

The plan faltered just three meters away from freedom. A bored-looking officer had waved their cargo through the checkpoint. All that was left was to push the pallet across the yellow line dividing the clearance zone from the rest of the station. That was when a second officer, sharper eyed than the first, stepped in front of her.

“Shouldn’t those bobble heads be, you know, bobbling?” he asked with a pointed look at the open cargo pallet.

“Well, nobody said they’re _high quality_ bobble heads,” Zorii said, lounging against the handle of the pallet to give the officer a good view of her figure. She had no problem mildly debasing herself to get through customs. “I’m not the manufacturer, just the delivery girl.”

“Looks to me like their heads might be stuffed with something.. Why don’t you pop a couple of them off, delivery girl?” The officer’s hand rested lightly on his blaster, warning her not to do anything foolish.

“Jaxson?” A smooth voice behind her said. “How long has it been, buddy?”

Poe stepped around her and enveloped the customs officer in one of those back-thumping man hugs that Zorii detested.

“Sullust!” the officer exclaimed. “I thought that TIE fighter had me for sure, but then you took that hit!”

“And now they’ve got you doing customs duty?” Poe asked, eying the badge on his chest. “And you’re harassing my partner?”

Jaxson smiled ruefully. “Hey, man, if I’d known she was your partner…” He cast a glance over the pallet of bobble heads, which were indeed not bobbling. “Listen, I’m sorry the Navy kicked you out. You ask me, that guy had it coming. Real shame for them to lose a pilot like you.”

Poe shrugged. He faked nonchalance well.

“I appreciate that, man. I really do. But listen, I got this new job delivering these whimsical collector’s items here, and if my boss hears I got hung up at customs…” He waggled his eyebrows at Jaxson, who nodded.

“Say no more, man. Step right through.”

Tension flooded out of Zorii’s body as she pushed the pallet across the yellow line -- and flooded back a second later, when she felt the barrel of a blaster in the small of her back.

Poe’s voice was low in her ear. “We’re gonna walk to your distributor, nice and slow, and then you’re gonna give me half the take.” 

“Half? You’re delusional, Dameron.” Yeah, she’d miscalculated. That didn’t mean she was letting some cocky flyboy take half the credits she needed to start her crew.

He jammed the blaster into her back harder. “I’m surprised to have to explain this to a hardened criminal like yourself, but you negotiate the fee with your getaway driver upfront. Otherwise, he just might leave you out to dry. Half’s generous, and you know it.”

Zorii stopped, testing him. “I know you’re not going to shoot me in the back.”

He leaned in closer, so that his breath brushed her ear, making her shiver. “I know what you look like, Zorii. I can turn you in.”

“And implicate yourself?”

Poe put on a high pitched voice. “Jaxson, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize my partner was smuggling spice. As soon as I found out, I performed a citizen’s arrest.” He dropped back to his normal voice. “I hear the reward money’s pretty good, what with the Republic crackdown and all.”

Her throat went dry. “You wouldn’t.”

“To my crew, no. To the woman who kissed me last night to soften me up, yeah.” He jabbed her with the gun. “Keep walking.”

Zorii fought the urge to turn around and beg Poe to look into her eyes. Instead, she tightened her grip around the pallet and pushed it forward. The kiss had been real, and however much it pained her to admit it, she had wanted more of it. She might have even let herself dream about shooting off into the stars with Poe on her crew and in her bed. But she could see how it would look to him, and she doubted anything she had to say would convince him otherwise. She gritted her teeth and led him toward her distributor. He was just one more sacrifice on her road to independence.

***

Poe counted out the credits meticulously -- and theatrically, which didn’t surprise Zorii.

With each of the chits, he sang out, “One for you, and one for me.”

There were a _lot_ of chits. Enough, she had to admit, to make her stupid. She should never have stuffed those damn dolls so full their heads wouldn’t wobble. When the last credit hit the top of her pile, Poe gave her a hollow-eyed look and said, “Well, that’s that, I guess. You can buy your own passage home.”

Zorii wanted to guffaw. He would strand her over a single kiss? Clearly, _he_ was the starry-eyed thirteen-year-old waif.

And yet…

He _liked_ her. He’d been kind to her when she’d given him no reason, and he’d seen corruption in the galaxy and still chose to believe it could be better. She didn’t want him to leave.

“We could go into business together,” she said. “Pool our money.”

Poe snorted. “Let’s get one thing straight. I do crime. Maybe I shouldn’t like breaking the law, but I do. One thing I _don’t_ do is manipulation. You wanna smuggle under my nose without sharing the profits? That’s a dick move, but it comes with the life. But I draw the line when you fake kiss me.” 

“It wasn’t fake.” Zorii hated herself for desperation in her voice, but she reminded herself it was a business decision too. He _was_ a good pilot, better than she’d find anywhere else.

“Yeah right.” Poe strode away, barely sparing her an eyeroll.

“I was thirteen when my dad left,” she called after him. “He always drank, but he kept food in the house. So when he was gone, I didn’t really know how to take care of myself.”

Poe hesitated at the door.

“I remember what you said -- that you can tell if someone’s a fighter when you look at them. Well, I knew how to look. I could tell who wasn’t a fighter.”

Poe turned toward her. “Are you telling me a story?” he asked. His face softened slightly, though he kept one hand on his blaster and the other wrapped around his bag of credits. He was smart, obviously. A fighter.

“Yeah.” She took a ragged breath. “I made friends with one of the kids who wasn’t a fighter. He was _so_ hungry. Not for food. He had some of that. He was hungry for love. But _I_ was hungry for food. _So_ hungry. And when he told me where he kept his, I took it all. I don’t know if he made it through the winter.”

Poe cocked his head. “Why are you telling me this, Zorii?”

She shrugged. “So you’ll have something you know is true, before you go.”

“I forgive you,” Poe said.

“For the kiss?” Zorii snapped. Whatever he thought about her motives, her kissing skills were excellent. A kiss from her hardly needed to be forgiven.

“No, for taking the food.”

Zorii rolled her eyes. Somehow, in the space of that two hour journey to her distributor and back, she’d forgotten exactly how insufferable he was. “That’s not how it works, Dameron,” she said, like she was trying to explain it to a four-year-old. “You can’t forgive me for something I didn’t do to you.”

“Yeah I can,” Poe said implacably. He took a step toward her and his eyes softened. “You clearly need to hear it, so I forgive you. You were a kid, you were hungry, and you did what you had to do to survive. That’s not your fault.”

Now Poe was standing close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. She tilted her face up toward him, and he said, “Now, mark my words, you ever try to hoodwink me again, and I will end you without a second thought.”

“Again?” Zorii repeated stupidly, trying to will down the hope rising up inside her.

“I accept your offer,” he said. “Our own crew, split the profits fifty fifty, no lies and no secret side jobs.”

She forced herself to step back and think of this like a businesswoman, not a hungry thirteen-year-old waif. “I choose to believe that you were honest when you said you aren’t planning to leave this life. But if ever you _do_ leave me high and dry, I will hunt you down and end you without a second thought.”

Poe smiled and took her hand. “Zorii Bliss, I swear I will never leave you for some foolhardy ideological crusade to go respectable. We have a crew unless and until we reach mutually agreeable terms for its dissolution.” He winked. “I learned that phrase from Senator Organa.”

He pulled one last bobblehead from his pocket and held out his arm, and she took it. The words _I swear I will never leave you_ rattled in her head as they walked down the corridor together. Fool that she was, she believed him.


End file.
